


First Light

by magicianlogician12



Series: The Damsel, the Huntress, and the Scoundrel [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: But just a little, Gen, mild implication of unhealthy relationship dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23535118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicianlogician12/pseuds/magicianlogician12
Summary: Suramar sees its first sunrise in ten thousand years, but the dawn it brings is an uneasy one.
Series: The Damsel, the Huntress, and the Scoundrel [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693717
Kudos: 2





	First Light

**Author's Note:**

> a brief character introduction to Thalianne, Alyseia, and Lucarys, my three main nightborne--originally intended to be the prologue of a longer fic that had to be shelved, it also works as a standalone

From the Nighthold’s tallest tower, Alyseia prepares to watch her first sunrise.

Timekeeping is a precise science in Suramar, guided by arcane devices and the divination of the best arcanists in the grand magistrix’s service, so naturally Alyseia knows the hours of sunrise and sunset, dawn and dusk. She knows when she must awaken in the morning but rarely cares to know when she is finally permitted her nightly rest. She knows the hours of the day, but she has never seen them.

Those who remember the world outside Suramar, from ten thousand years ago, Alyseia wonders if they are as nervous as her. She wonders if they are underwhelmed from having seen it before, or if it will feel new after so long lacking the natural cycle of the sun and moon and stars. She wonders how many are like her, born under Suramar’s shield, who have never seen it.

Three days ago, Elisande had met with a hunched-over orc wearing a threadbare robe, holding a plain-looking wooden staff that he used as a walking stick. He had delivered a thinly-veiled ultimatum, and for the first time in the thousand years Alyseia had served in Elisande’s shadow, she had watched the grand magistrix’s confidence falter. Near-imperceptible to anyone else, Alyseia had felt the faint brush of air, the thickening tension, and the dread that sat low in her stomach like a stone.

“Your people will be welcomed as allies,” the orc told her, eyes glowing a fiery red, “or you will fall under the Legion’s might.”

For three days, Elisande had not slept, barely rested, and only taken her arcwine when Alyseia brought it to her, while she bitterly argued with her advisors. First Arcanist Thalyssra had passionately argued against trusting the Legion’s offer, while Advisor Vandros stated that taking the Legion’s offer was the only way to ensure their survival.

Last night, Elisande had made her decision. “There is no guarantee we will live if we accept  the Legion 's offer or if we reject it. I have spent these past days considering every path that lies before us... Every outcome. Every possibility. Always, I have placed the well-being of our people above my own desires. Allegiance is the only way to save our people and our city. Gather my advisors,  Vandros . We will bring down the barrier tomorrow."

Alyseia had not been there to watch the barrier fall herself--Elisande had dismissed her and told her to wait in her quarters, and no small part of her had wanted to protest, but she saw the steel in Elisande’s gaze and knew she wouldn’t be swayed like she might on occasion.

After, Elisande had sat upon her bed, a glass of arcwine in hand, and she had told Alyseia while she organized the magistrix’s latest reports, “The necessity of this disgusts me.”

By now, Alyseia knew the placating words that Elisande wanted to hear. “I’m certain you have done what you feel is best for all of us.” Alyseia had approached when Elisande held out her free arm, sitting upon the plush cushions at the head of Elisande’s bed, and squashed the faint burst of nausea that came from her closeness. “As you always have.”

“What would you have done, Alys?” Elisande asked her, gaze still fixed upon the field of stars beyond her open window, stars Alyseia had never seen before, and badly wanted to explore, but knew asking to leave now would assuredly leave the magistrix in an even fouler mood.

A noncommittal answer would have frustrated Elisande as well, so Alyseia considered her response. “I don’t know,” she finally said, and felt Elisande tense, preparing to rebuke her apparent indecisiveness, before Alyseia amended the response with, “I don’t have all the facts, nor all the context. I would like to think I could have made the right choice, but...I confess, I don’t trust the demons.”

For many years, Alyseia has gotten away with mild disagreements on the decisions and opinions of Elisande’s advisors with carefully-applied flattery, and that time, even despite the circumstances, had been no exception. Elisande had released a breath, and tightened her arm’s grip where it rested across Alyseia’s shoulders--the nausea grew stronger, and Alyseia swallowed thickly. “You soothe the worst of my fraying nerves, as always.”

“I was born under the city’s shield,” Alyseia ventured a sentence without being prompted, and Elisande’s silence encouraged her to continue, “and I have never seen the stars.”

“I shall have to show you Star Augur Etraeus’ sanctum.” Elisande declared, taking another long drink of her arcwine. “His devices would allow you to see them far better than from any of the Nighthold’s towers. They have long gone unused, but I imagine he is eager to unearth them once more.”

Alyseia had let the silence sit for a long moment before she spoke again. “I have a request, if it pleases you, my lady.”

“Speak.”

“May I go see the sunrise?”

Much to her surprise, Elisande had spared a smile for her, a small one, a tired one, an indulgent one. “You may go,” she said, as Alyseia was already halfway standing, “but be mindful of your duties.”

“Of course, my lady.” Alyseia had dipped into a sloppy curtsy that would have horrified her at any other time, before taking to her heels, where she had known the Nighthold’s tallest tower would be.

And now, Alyseia waits.

There are safer places to watch, Alyseia knows, and she might have seen it just as well from  _ inside _ the tower’s uppermost room, but nothing, she hopes, will compare to the sight from  _ atop _ the Nighthold’s tower, one hand firmly grasping the needle-like pinnacle of the tower’s rounded roof. It had taken some doing to get there, of course--some scaling of walls, some clever usage of the masonry’s shape for footholds and handholds, but it had been accomplished.

Far above, Alyseia can see the endless fields of stars, needle-fine pinpricks of light in the inky-dark sky, such a sharp contrast from the arcane violet of the barrier that has been her horizon for as long as she can remember. Suramar City, far below, feels too distant to be real--for this brief, shining moment, it is only Alyseia and the newborn night sky, and in the darkness between stars, she sees only freedom.

Her first hint that dawn approaches comes in a lightening of the sky, as it changes from inky dark to steel gray, and the faint starlight begins to fade, melting into the sky as it turns lighter and lighter. Alyseia’s stomach turns over and over as nerves and exhaustion catch up with anticipation, but she refuses to surrender when her prize is within reach.

And, as easily as anything, Alyseia spots the blinding edge as the sun touches the edge of the horizon, and while it must take longer than it feels, surely, Alyseia blinks and it’s already higher, rising and rising until she has to shield her eyes from its rays.

Suramar’s skies are painted in the colors of flame and shadow, with deep violet and gray rapidly receding across the sky as the fiery orange overtakes it, leaving behind a sky so gold and so bright that for a long moment, all Alyseia can do is stare, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun’s most intense light. Her hand still clutches the needle-like decoration jutting out from the Nighthold’s peak, but her grip has loosened, and she leans over her shoulder to watch, at last, as the day overtakes the night, and dawn breaks.

Alyseia has known nothing but Suramar for over a thousand years, and many have known nothing more for far longer. It is a realm of magic and arcane exploration and all the beauty it implies, and Alyseia is no stranger to witnessing its wonders.

This, however, is something special.

As the sun’s full image appears over the edge of the city, however, Alyseia knows her duty must overtake her wonder for now. Elisande would not be idle today, and neither would she.

Climbing carefully back down the masonry she’d scaled earlier to gain her view of the sky, Alyseia carries the memory of the sun’s rays on her iridescent white-lavender hair, the warmth it leaves on her night-touched skin, as she returns to the Nighthold’s heart.

Alyseia has only known freedom in such limited quantities throughout her life, and often wonders what it feels like, but she thinks it must feel something like watching that sunrise: a breaking of shadow, and endless possibility.

* * *

There has been a trade, over the past ten thousand years, that Thalianne has found herself regretting today.

Once, she had been a ranger of little renown but vast skill, a skillful tracker and trapper both. She had learned to follow tracks, signs in the earth and wood and leaves that would lead her to her quarry. She had the endurance to outlast her prey, be it man or beast, and by the grace of luck or her own skill, she had very nearly always succeeded.

Her marksmanship has not faltered for the ten thousand years she has served the grand magistrix, but everything else, it seems, is now lacking.

Thalianne’s skill in tracking has been traded for prowling through city streets, and while the cause is agreeable, the methods, frequently, are not. Her blunt and open honesty has been traded for the subtle maneuvering so common in Elisande’s court, and the edges of Thalianne’s fire has been curbed by the necessity of survival.

Neither of those skills will serve her here.

There are other questions Thalianne wants to ask, answers she must seek, now that the shield is gone. There are places she must revisit, a whole world that has had ten thousand years to change, grow, diminish. Seeking answers is something Thalianne has always been gifted at, but that pursuit cannot be her priority now.

Deep in Suramar’s untouched wilds, Thalianne holds her bow at the ready, the fingers of her free hand idly rotating in preparation to cast one of her arcane arrows. Her eyes have long adapted to the shadow, but her footfalls are heavy against the leaves, where once she knew they would have been weightless. Sloppy, an oversight, a weakness she has developed that must now be unlearned.

The night air feels too still, too silent, and simultaneously filled with noise--Thalianne’s ear twitches as she hears the sounds of other animals wandering nearby, the crunch of leaves, the rustle of grasses in the breeze, the faint burbling of a creek, farther in the distance. After a moment’s consideration, Thalianne turns her feet that direction. If Thalyssra is alive, she would need water, at the very least.

Vaulting over an outcropping of stone, Thalianne lands in ice-cold water, thigh deep, and bites her lip against a gasp of surprise. With long strides, Thalianne makes her way to the shore, and almost overlooks a splash of something darker on the rocks.

Squinting her eyes, Thalianne touches the darkened surface of the stone and her fingers come away with blood--fresh, if not warm--and the iron grip fear has held on her chest all evening finally releases the worst of its grasp, though Thalianne is well aware her work is far from over. With a snap of her fingers, Thalianne summons an arcane familiar, and it hovers over the splash of blood for a long moment before flashing with apparent enthusiasm, and Thalianne smiles.

Many of Suramar’s mages use arcane familiars to aid with their daily tasks--from enchanting them within cleaning implements like brooms and brushes to using their power to bolster their own spellcasting effectiveness--but Thalianne is no arcanist, nor does she have the skill to summon such a versatile tool for the sole purpose of frivolous laziness.

What she  _ can _ do, however, and is not ashamed to do, is summon one to track this trail of blood that could change the course of Suramar’s future.

There is every possibility that the blood comes from one of the many animals who call Suramar’s wilderness home, but Thalianne has no better leads to follow, and with the faint lightening of the sky, she knows she’s running out of time. With every hour that passes, the odds that Thalianne will find Thalyssra alive dramatically decrease--there is only so much blood one body can lose, and the First Arcanist had suffered what was intended to be a mortal wound.

Thalianne’s arcane familiar dips and bobs in the air, dimming its light as Thalianne follows, stumbling upon another tiny spot of blood on the ground. Rapidly switching directions, Thalianne has to leap for the low-hanging branches of a nearby tree, using them as leverage to climb a nearby rock face, to catch up.

When she lands, she finds her arcane familiar hovering within crumbling ruins whose structure reminds Thalianne so much of Azsuna it almost hurts, but with effort, she discards the reaction, focusing on her familiar’s path.

It slips into the only structure still standing amidst the cluster of collapsing stone. Thalianne follows...and finds the First Arcanist slumped over, a hand resting weakly against a subtle wound, still slowly weeping blood, almost black in the low light.

Dropping her bow to the ground, Thalianne falls to her knees and rests a hand on Thalyssra’s shoulder. Her skin is warm, but she gives no acknowledgement of Thalianne’s presence. Reaching for one of Thalyssra’s wrists--curiously bony, which strikes Thalianne as odd--she presses her thumb into the pulse point, and feels a weak, sluggish beat.

A raspy breath, sharp enough to make Thalianne jump, breaks the night’s relative silence, and Thalyssra weakly raises her head, her face gaunt and haggard. There’s a moment, Thalianne knows, where Thalyssra wants to ask if Thalianne has been sent here to finish her off. The question hovers in her bright lavender gaze, rapidly dimming, then vanishes, and Thalianne finds herself grateful.

“Stay here.” Thalianne says, just above a whisper. “I need to find something to bind this wound.”

Thalyssra says nothing until Thalianne rises to her feet, then manages, “Wait. I need...” Thalyssra coughs, a hacking sound that makes Thalianne’s stomach lurch, and continues, weaker, “Find mana. Please.”

“Your wound must be bound first,” Thalianne picks up her bow from where it had been dropped, “then we will see about moving somewhere safer.”

As she searches, digging through the earth and her memories for the herbs her sentinel training had taught her millennia ago was suitable for binding wounds, Thalianne considers Thalyssra’s other request. The Nightwell has been the nightborne’s primary source of sustenance since the shield first went up, but surely the lack of exposure to its energies wasn’t already affecting Thalyssra so keenly?

_ It has to be the wound _ , Thalianne deduces as her fingers close around the familiar soft boughs, hidden beneath Suramar’s most common shrubs, and hopes she’s right.

Deftly weaving the strands into a rough approximation of a bandage while she walks, Thalianne lets her arcane familiar lead her back the way she came, keeping her ears open for any sign of danger. She arrives at Thalyssra’s hidden nook without incident, and finds her just barely clinging to consciousness as she wraps the makeshift bandage around the wound. It will not hold forever, but it will be enough to start the process of healing.

“Others will come soon,” Thalyssra coughs as Thalianne slips one arm under her shoulders, slowly helping her rise from the ancient, cobbled ground, “if you do not return with news.”

“Then we must find someplace for you to take shelter until I can bring word back to the grand magistrix.” Thalianne’s eyes scan the nearby ruins, crumbling as they had been slowly reclaimed by Suramar’s wilds in the ten-thousand year interim. With a snap of her fingers, she dismisses her arcane familiar, and it fades into nothingness, leaving both nightborne’s eyes to adjust once again.

With one arm helping Thalyssra move, Thalianne knows they’re vulnerable to attack, but they have little choice until finding a more suitable place for Thalianne to leave her. She hadn’t been wrong, after all--Elisande would soon send more than just Thalianne herself if she didn’t return with confirmation of Thalyssra’s fate.

“I recognize this.” Thalyssra speaks suddenly, and Thalianne stops their slow, painful walk while Thalyssra thinks. “Meredil.”

“There’s a cave hidden in these rocks.” Thalianne nods her head in the direction of the discreet opening in the stone. “It will have to do for now.”

Whatever Thalyssra had intended to say in response is covered with a pained sound as her wound is disturbed, and Thalianne’s jaw tightens as they make the last few steps into the cave’s shelter. “Before you go--”

“Mana--I hadn’t forgotten.” Thalianne carefully leans Thalyssra against the least jagged-looking of the cave’s rocks, and draws her bow once more. “Wait here.”

For the moment, Thalianne shelves the question of how she’s supposed to keep Thalyssra supplied with mana in the long-term, and ventures further into the tunnel ahead, but stops short for several moments when she sees what else lies within.

This is no ordinary cave--it, too, is a ruin, but its structure reminds Thalianne of the ley-line tunnels running underneath Suramar’s surface, and while this particular nexus is empty, perhaps that was an option to consider once the immediate crisis had passed. Far more at the forefront of Thalianne’s attention are the massive violet crystals jutting free of the ruins as though they’d burst through the stone, and she didn’t need to be much of a mage to tell they were pure mana.

Setting her bow down, Thalianne reaches for the largest of the crystals and pulls with both hands, breaking off a large chunk with a grunt of effort, nearly falling backwards with the force of it. More remained, but this would be enough to sate Thalyssra’s hunger for now.

At the cave’s mouth, Thalianne approaches Thalyssra and holds out the precious mana crystal she’d obtained, but Thalyssra does not move to take it right away. “You should not have come.”

“And why is that?”

“We can only maintain this deception for so long before Elisande discovers the truth.” Thalyssra does turn this time, and her eyes are dim, but she accepts the mana crystal in Thalianne’s hand, breaking it into smaller shards. “We cannot hope to strike back from here.”

“Not with just the two of us, perhaps.” Thalianne leans on her bow and watches the stars begin to fade. “But we are not alone. There’s a whole world out there.”

“We know nothing of how the world has changed in our absence.” Thalyssra devours the remaining mana crystals, and some of the color returns to her face, but she appears no less gaunt. “If there is a world out there at all.”

“There’s only one way to find out, yes?” Thalianne raises a long, bright white brow, and sees the moment Thalyssra’s posture stiffens with resolve, then relents with a great release of breath, a weary one.

“I will attempt to make contact with whomever is nearby.” Thalyssra idly runs a fingertip along her gaunt cheek. “Perhaps someone out there is listening.”

Night turns to dawn as silence falls between them, and Thalianne slings her bow across one shoulder again. “Can you make it within the cave on your own?”

“I believe I am strong enough now.” Thalyssra slowly, painstakingly pushes herself back to her feet, and while she sways, she remains standing. “Go, and do what you can.”

“Keep yourself alive while I’m gone.” Thalianne turns to regard the view outside, starlight slowly being replaced by the gray of predawn rays. “It would be very inconvenient if I had to attempt overthrowing Elisande by myself.”

Thalyssra almost laughs a little. “I shall do my utmost to avoid inconveniencing you.”

When Thalianne leaves Meredil, it is with dread, relief, and resolve all warring for control in her chest. She leaves successful in her mission, but this is no ending. There is every possibility this gambit could end in not only her own death, but the death of the world as they know it. All that stands between Suramar and that nigh-inevitable fate is the willpower of those who would die before that fate came to pass.

As Thalianne climbs carefully down the last rock face before reaching Suramar City’s walls, open for the first time in ten thousand years, a flash of light catches her eye, and she turns her head in time to see the slimmest curve of the sun, rising hesitantly over the city, as though it too can sense the unease lingering in the night, awaiting the incoming day.

Straightening her spine, Thalianne walks back into the city, through the roads she has prowled for ten thousand years on Elisande’s orders, and reminds herself of today’s only unquestionable truth: there will be another trade of skills before this rebellion is done. She will have to be ranger and spy both, a delicate balance for someone like her, so unafraid to drag the truth from the deepest shadow into plain light.

It is a balance, however, that will purchase endless dawns just like this one for their people, for the world, and that is a balance worth any risk.

* * *

Lucarys, half-asleep and only having found his bed a scant few hours before, feels the sun on his face, and doesn’t immediately question the oddness of it.

There’s more important things to question, after all--namely, why he’s  _ awake _ after having only slept for  _ maybe _ three hours, by generous estimation. Lucarys is mere moments from yanking the blanket back over his head to steal the necessary hours of sleep he’s currently lacking, but stops.

He feels the sun on his face. He remembers the feeling, dimly, from a time ten thousand years ago when his life had been far more miserable and complicated than it was today, but he knows he’s not mistaken. He also knows he should absolutely  _ not _ be feeling the sun on his face.

Squinting his good eye open with annoyance, Lucarys finds himself facing the one window in his tiny abode in Suramar City’s lower districts, and the clear sight of the sun’s blindingly golden disc shape in the sky, merrily shining its rays down upon the city like there was nothing at all out of the ordinary about it. Ruefully kicking his blanket free of his legs--since he had a feeling he wouldn’t be getting those extra hours of sleep after all--Lucarys leans out of his window and takes in the sight of the city.

There isn’t much to see, from here, but he knows that can’t be true everywhere. Elisande had been the one to put that barrier up, so long ago, and she’d be the only one who’d take it down. It would’ve been easy to convince himself he didn’t care why, but that would have been a short-sighted approach at best and a foolish one at worst.

He could have checked in with his few trusted contacts, but even then it would all be hearsay. For the most part, Lucarys was fine with that and accepted it as a necessary risk of his line of work, but this was...different.

Sheathing twin daggers where they couldn’t be easily spotted in his casual outfit and pulling his eyepatch over his ruined right eye, Lucarys slips out and takes to the streets, matching his pace with those who were also out. Talk is common in the thoroughfares of the city, friends catching up or making plans or merchants hawking their wares, but today Lucarys senses an undercurrent of tension that hasn’t been there before, as far as he can remember.

Unease churns in his stomach, but he discards the feeling...until rounding the next corner, and spotting two demonic dreadguards, accompanied by a shivarra, wicked-looking blades clutched in all six of her hands. It isn’t even the sight of demons in the city’s streets that throws Lucarys most off-balance, however--it’s the rest of his people treating it as something  _ normal _ .

Caught for a split second by the urge to pinch himself and see if this was really just a very elaborate fatigue nightmare, Lucarys’ jaw clenches to the point of straining his teeth, then he turns and walks briskly back to the city’s lower districts. He does not  _ run _ , because it would draw far too much attention like this, but the fear simmering in his chest is unmistakable.

He finds Arluin where he typically is, out of sight and out of almost anyone’s immediate notice in one of the city’s many alleys and side paths. “I don’t suppose you have any idea why there are  _ demons _ in our streets?”

“You haven’t heard?” Arluin ducks his head around the wall to ensure there are no immediate eavesdroppers, then continues. “By ‘royal proclamation’, Elisande sent her guards to deliver the news that we’ve accepted new allies--the Legion. Effective immediately, they are aiding the Duskwatch in keeping order.”

“‘Aiding’ them, of course.” Lucarys mutters, as the swirling fear in his chest sinks, and turns to dread. “What was she thinking? She put that barrier up to  _ stop  _ the Legion in the first place.”

Arluin shrugs, but Lucarys can see the weight in the casual gesture. “Seems like a risky gambit. And a foolish one.”

Lucarys returns to his home, mind racing as he absently unsheathes the daggers he hadn’t needed after all, setting them in their rack, in easy reach. No matter what some might say, and no matter his opinion of Elisande, he knows she is no fool. Arrogant, perhaps, utterly convinced that she is the selfless, virtuous ruler she thinks she is, but she is no fool.

Not until today, it seems.

With a snort of disgust, Lucarys sits at his window again, and watches as the sun rises in the sky, illuminating the shapes of demons in his streets, walking among his people like they belong. He considers taking up his daggers again and killing them himself, but discards the idea immediately. Too many of them, not enough of him, and it would be foolhardy at best to think he could so easily solve that problem himself.

Turning his face to glare at the sun as it continues to rise, Lucarys scowls.

Life had been so much less complicated without it, but there was little to be done about it now. If he wanted his old life back, he’d have to steal it, as with everything else of value he had to his name.

All that remained was to wait for an opportunity.


End file.
